


Postmortem

by notwisely



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, OtaYuri Week 2017, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely/pseuds/notwisely
Summary: Yuri’s afraid that Otabek is going to be disappointed—that Otabek is going to be sad. He’s pulled out his phone to google 'how to make someone feel better after losing' when he sees Otabek, still talking with the last lingering reporters, and realizes: Otabek isn’t sad. Otabek isfucking furious.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wow! i did not realize it was otayuri week! anyway i missed day 1 but this is for "celebrations"

Though the initial whirlwind rush of the medal ceremony, of flashbulbs and what feels like a hundred thousand inane questions from the media, Yuri's heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest, the heavy beat drumming out a rhythm of _gold gold gold_. He submits to hugs from Katsudon and Viktor (disgusting), _tears_ from Katsudon and Viktor (repulsive) and through it all, the medal around his neck and the voice in his head shouts _gold gold gold gold_. 

When there's finally a lull long enough for him to catch his breath, he looks around for Otabek. There hadn't been room for thought during the kiss and cry, the breathless wait for his scores followed immediately by the giddy, overwhelming rush of the judges' announcement ( _gold gold gold_ ), but of course he had known that JJ made the podium. He should have tried to talk to Otabek earlier, Yuri admits, scanning the crush of bodies in the hallway, but, well. He isn't sure he's someone Otabek will want to talk to, at the moment. 

Yuri's afraid that Otabek is going to be disappointed—that Otabek is going to be sad. He's pulled out his phone to google ' _how to make someone feel better after losing_ ' when he sees Otabek, still talking with the last lingering reporters, and realizes: Otabek isn't sad. Otabek is _fucking furious_. 

"And what did you think of the free program performance by Jean-Jacques Leroy?" A man is asking, his portable recorder shoved into Otabek's face. Yuri hisses, indignant. _What the fuck kind of an asshole question is that?_ Obviously Otabek thinks JJ's performance was underwhelming and overrated, _obviously_ , any idiot could see that from the downturned corners of his mouth and the flat blankness in his expression. 

The look on his face is something Yuri recognizes, somewhere Yuri's been. He's wearing the gold medal now, but he knows, intimately, the useless rage of performing _perfectly_ , of landing every jump, and still watching _fucking_ JJ saunter away with the championship. And Otabek, if anything, has more right to that rage, given the complete mediocrity of JJ's final performance. 

"He recovered well, and of course, he is a skater you can never count out." Otabek is saying, far too diplomatic, in Yuri's opinion, given that JJ is almost certainly in some corner, exuding smugness and spinning bullshit about how much he deserved the win.

Someone else dives in with "Where do you think you went wrong, in the free program?" and Yuri is surprised by the surge of protective fury he feels. He wants to shove his way through the throng of media, grab Otabek, and run. 

When the last blood-sucking reporter finally (finally!) leaves, Otabek drops his head, fists clenched. Something in Yuri twists in sympathy, and he looks away to give Otabek a moment of privacy. When he looks back, though, Otabek has vanished.

The urge to say "Well, he's gone, maybe I'll talk to him at the banquet." is immediate and deeply appealing. He hesitates. Yuri has always handled his own problems; he doesn't accept pity or help from others, and he doesn't extend any either—an equal exchange. 

Except that isn't true, hasn't been true for a while now. (He hears, again, _"Yurio, davai!"_ , encouragement uncomplicated and freely given.)

 _Are you going to become friends with me or not?_ He squeezes his eyes shut and growls. Nothing for it, then.

Yuri checks the hallways and the locker room, but as he's turning the corner to poke his head into the restroom, he realizes that he's just putting off the inevitable. He knows where Otabek is. _It's where I would be_ , a small voice inside him thinks. He crushes the thought mercilessly (there will be time for that later—or, never, depending on how this conversation goes) and turns towards the rink. Otabek is sitting in the top row of the stands, staring down at the now-empty rink with his jaw clenched.

Yuri sits down next to him, shoulders barely brushing, and folds his arms. "JJ's a dick," he says, matter of fact.

Otabek is silent, but he shifts sideways ever so slightly, bumping shoulders with Yuri.

"You deserved it." Yuri says, finally. 

"I know." Otabek says, but something in his posture relaxes at the words. He grimaces and shakes his head. "I thought performing in the Grand Prix Final meant that I had proved myself. That they saw what I could do, what I could be, on the ice." He's looking out at the rink, and Yuri knows he's reliving that final free program, turning the memory over in his head for flaws, mistakes, moments where he fell short of perfection.

Yuri is startled. It's always been clear to him that this Grand Prix Final is a waypoint, not a final destination. Yuri—Otabek too, for that matter—isn't even close to the best he can be yet. "Were you going to retire after this competition or something?" He scoffs. "Winning here doesn't prove anything, not yet." He worries it might sound too callous, that it will seem cruel. Yuri's never been the best with words. He thinks Otabek will understand, though. They're not done fighting—it's an endless uphill scramble, clawing your way over rocks and dirt, with brief moments where you can see through the trees, where you look down from a breathless height—and then up, to the stretch of mountain still towering above you. 

Otabek looks at Yuri then, finally, something surprised and grateful in his eyes. "Next year." He says, resolute. "Next year I'm taking the gold."

Yuri smiles in approval, but, "Well, silver." He corrects, before he can help himself. 

Otabek glances at him blankly, and Yuri has just enough time to think _shit, he's mad_ before Otabek huffs a laugh. "We'll see." He smirks. 

" _'We'll see?'_ " Yuri feels a familiar wave of righteous indignation (he's _still wearing_ his gold medal, actually, and does Otabek think he's going to take a year _off_? He's not _Viktor_ ), but he's surprised by the accompanying spark of delight at Otabek's shit-eating grin. " _WE'LL SEE?_ What do you MEAN- stop _laughing-_ "

**Author's Note:**

> this fic vaguely brought to you by emmett's bits in "chip on your shoulder" from legally blonde
> 
> i am [on tumblr](http://not-wisely.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
